


The Eagle

by DarthTofu



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Character Study, Drabble, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 20:02:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7546007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthTofu/pseuds/DarthTofu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration into what it's like being in a relationship with Masyaf's top eagle. Breakfast always was Malik's favourite part of day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Eagle

**Author's Note:**

> This is the closest thing to a plot I've attempted to write in nearly 6 years and my first time writing anything that isn't like, G-rated lol. Luckily I've got Sorsa to kick my butt into gear. :D

The first rays of dawn stream through the tall windows and Malik stirs from his sleep. He stretches his arms as his back arches, his right big toe pointing upwards, before rolling inwards in the bed. The empty space he finds is still warm.

“Good morning,” Malik mumbles, and receives no answer. Of course there isn’t one, but one of them has to be human in this relationship. He wishes he could allow himself just a few more moments, maybe another half day in bed. Alas, being second-in-command of an entire Assassin brotherhood disallows laziness. Still, the early morning is only theirs to share, and therefore cherished.

Altaïr is perched at the window, unmoving as he looks over the village. Surely he’s noticed Malik but makes no sign of it, even as Malik slides in next to him.The sun colours the sky in time with their slow breaths, and the cool yellows seeping out into angry red reflect in Altaïr’s eyes. At this moment, he turns his head and his eyes look at—through?—Malik. It’s said eyes are the windows to the soul but Altaïr’s are mirrors. And at this moment Malik sees only his own frustration. The blank face helps not at all to reveal the character beneath.

Altaïr, after _Al-Nasr Al-Ta'ir_ , the Flying Eagle, is the apt name of the greatest hunter in a whole brotherhood of hunters, unusual yellow eyes notwithstanding. It’s especially apparent in the field, in his sudden aerial strikes—flashy even in discretion—and the confident, almost rapturous command of each life caught in his talons. He allures as powerfully as he terrifies in the cavalier disregard of admirers and abhorers alike.

Nonetheless, Malik smirks and drawls, “Come, it’s time for breakfast,” then turns to leave the room,  trusting his partner will follow.

In lieu of discourse, the two eat accompanied only by the muffled tearing of pita bread, squeaking of _jibneh bayda_ , and crunching of vegetables and the shuffling of readjusting limbs. But there is no lack of communication in these quiet moments between the Grandmaster and his First (Mate, Confidante, _Love?_ ).

Altaïr eats almost like he kills: with outward clinical intensity, without the sometimes-accompanying mania that alights his stone face (but never his stone eyes). There is instead inward satisfaction and, only when Malik and no one else is watching, momentary clarity in the slightest softening of his gaze.

Malik is sipping his tea when a bare foot slides up his leg in uncharacteristic playfulness.

“Must you do this now?” says Malik.

“Must you always take my every action so seriously?” replies Altaïr.

“Because you are asinine and lack regard for proper conduct!” says Malik, gesticulating with his arm. _And also because you are very distracting and I’m hungry,_ he silently adds.

Altaïr grabs the arm, forward leaning and head tilting, and husks, “Proper conduct, like yours during our private moments.”

Malik turns a deep shade of purple and mumbles, “But we’re eating,” and punctuates the point by shoving a piece of tart _za'atar_ -topped pita into his mouth.

Altaïr leans back and responds with a bite of his own food, but his eyes and foot remain aggressively fixed to Malik’s in a gesture of latent dominance. The beginnings of a smile that does not reach his eyes form.

Malik though is equally as stubborn, equally as combative, and understands Altaïr more intimately than any other. Whatever fluster he had before is gone. Instead he stares right back, silently daring Altaïr’s foot to climb higher.

Altaïr in his infinite wisdom never learnt to back down. He takes the bait in that assured (aggravating, arrogant) confidence he does everything, but the moment his foot begins to caress Malik’s inner thigh, Malik twists in a way that flattens and pulls Altaïr under the table. Altaïr opens his eyes to find Malik straddled atop himself and pushes back.

They roll and wrestle, spinning in a gravity-challenged dance, hands joining the feet in desperate exploration through gaps between layers of cloth. Teeth scrape and bite where limbs haven’t enough time to reach. Somewhere a knee grinds a hip bone. A nail cuts through an arm and fingers draw red maps across the ribs. Altaïr is outright smiling now.

Ultimately, bigger, stronger, two-armed Altaïr pins (slams) Malik down even as the smaller, smarter man bucks upwards inside the other. It is not gentle but a rough and callous entry. Malik sees the aggression shining through his dark eyes reflected in Altaïr’s even brighter yet impenetrable ones. They rut in silent, escalating combat, neither surrendering an inch, remaining locked until Altaïr climaxes over Malik’s stomach. Malik shortly follows, and they release from each other, laying side by side.

The sky is a rich blue now. Their breath is fast and shallow but sex lingers in the crisp air and breakfast lies effectively forgotten. Malik watches Altaïr rise up after the short rest and readjust his robes in quick, preening motions. He does not look back at Malik but, with both sufficiently sated, simply leaves.

There is no negative feeling found in the lack of affection. Unlike others awed by his combat prowess but off-put by his person, Malik understands Altaïr’s eagle nature extends beyond assassination. It can be cruel, frustrating, but it can also be playful, exhilarating, even loving. And once trust is given, it is given for life. Malik, who himself has no patience for the usual politics of man, can imagine life with no other.

**Author's Note:**

> Bald eagle courtship rituals involve flying high into the air, locking talons, and spiralling into free fall, separating just before hitting the ground before they go off to copulate in a tree somewhere. It's quite spectacular if you've never seen it before! Now I based Altaïr off a golden eagle since it makes way more sense given his location, but they sometimes do, though much more rarely, lock talons during courtship. (Golden eagles typically have fancy flight manoeuvres, mock combat and do aerial tricks with rocks during their courtship instead. If you're wondering.)


End file.
